Feeling creaky

I'm feeling like a grandma at last. Stiff joints, aching limbs, sore knees; wobbly eyesight and crumbling teeth.

The joints and limbs are stiff because I'm running - only about 10 miles a week, but rising as I get ready for a 10k race in a couple of weeks' time. Yoga yesterday reminded me about muscles I'd forgotten existed. On Monday I tripped (don't ask me how - and isn't that a really old-lady thing?) and scraped my knees which now have lovely big scars.

I don't want to go to the trouble of having my eyes tested, but I must, because reading is getting a bit tricky. And I hate the dentist, but some day soon those little holes will become big ones and need proper fillings.

Old age, here I come?

Making the time?

Over three months since my last blog post, because I’ve been so busy – consumed by work, voluntary commitments and a singing tour in Germany. Which, as I noted at the beginning, is a worry – how can I find time for this new little person?

In March I began to make her a dress. Spent time finding the right fabric, the sweetest buttons; cut out the pieces and began to stitch them together. Lovely to sew, thinking about the things a little person might do, experience, see and learn while she’s wearing it. But a couple of months on the half-finished dress is waiting patiently on a hanger for me to finish the hem and add the buttons. Good thing she’s not ready to wear it yet.

Grey hair and apron?

Here’s one of the nubs of this exploration: how does our society see grandmothers, and what will I make of it? Maureen says I don’t fit the profile; what’s the profile?

The general image of a grandmother is probably of a smiley, grey-haired, slightly plump woman wearing a flowery dress and an apron, with ever-open arms and freshly-baked biscuits in the cupboard. It’s a lovely image, but whose grandmother is really like that?

The grandmothers I know are lively, busy, purposeful. They have full lives and aren’t defined by their grandchildren. My guess is that they’re better grandparents as a result.

Both of my grandmothers were smiley and owned tempting biscuit tins. But when I was growing up they were both working full-time; they wore smart suits to work (slacks at the weekend); and only one had grey hair.

I enjoyed discovering Raging Grannies (http://raginggrannies.org/) - a non-violent protest group, exposing corruption and opposing war. They dress ‘like innocent little old ladies’ – as they describe it, ‘outrageous flowery hats, and colourful costumes including aprons and rose-coloured running shoes’. I can see it would work on a demo (and I’m all for a good demo) but I’m not sure it’s the image I’m going to adopt when I’m a grandmother.

What was your grandmother like? What sort of grandmother are you?

Breathe in

At first, I didn’t have any strong feelings about the idea of having a grandchild. But when I began to imagine holding a small baby - that amazing, soft baby smell came to me. A gentle, alluring smell. It haunts babies whether they have just been towelled dry after a warm bath, or whether you’ve just peeled off an unfeasibly foul nappy. The memory of that smell became an anticipation, followed by others – soft baby blankets, shaky toddler steps. So, I remember a smell, and I’m now quietly but definitely excited.

New photograph album

A full six months to go before this baby is due to be born, and it’s first photograph is being sent to admiring friends and relations.

I was expecting to see one of those scratchy, 2-dimension ultrasound scans photographs, at some time, later in the year. But suddenly I can see not only one of those but also an incredible, clear sepia-coloured photo – nearly-formed ears, little skinny arms, bony bottom, legs relaxed. A real miracle.

This is another generational, continental difference: I didn’t have any scan, - I wasn’t offered one, and if I had been, I probably wouldn’t have wanted it. More than that, I definitely wouldn’t have wanted to know what the baby’s sex was. Somehow, it didn’t seem important to know, until the birth.

But these parents couldn’t wait to find out – and the hospital was glad to oblige. So we already know ‘it’ is a she!

Celebrating difference

So many things about this baby’s arrival are different to the way I had mine. Neither way is better or worse – it’s just different. Different decade, different country, different healthcare system, different bodies. It’s so interesting to get some insight into a different approach.

For a start, I didn’t tell most people I was pregnant for a long time. Apart from the baby’s father and my closest friends - who helped me through the surprise of finding out – I kept quiet. For me, it was more complicated. I wasn’t supposed to have a baby – I was on the dole, not married – it wasn’t part of the plan, and I guessed most people would see it as shameful. It was particularly difficult to tell my parents. But mostly, I genuinely didn’t think anyone else would be interested. I imagined people yawning at the idea of my pregnancy updates. To me, nine months (well, seven – I didn’t have the test until I was two months’ gone) seemed an eternity, and I thought, I’ll tell them nearer the time.

So, hooray for L&F, who have been so excited about telling everyone the great news as soon as they dared.

Hearing the news

Don’t get me wrong – I’m looking forward to having a grandchild. But it took some time to get used to the idea. One Sunday afternoon in November, the computer began to flash with a Skype call. My son’s face appeared, shining and optimistic in the Californian sun. He cut to the chase as quickly as possible. ‘We’ve got some news for you… L’s pregnant’. What could I say? I whooped. I laughed. I clapped. He just grinned, happy as I’d ever seen him: proud, pleased, happy.

He told me they’d been fairly sure for a couple of days, and the doctor had just confirmed the news. They couldn’t wait to tell their own parents - they’d just told L’s mum and dad. It was very early days, so they wouldn’t be telling anyone else just yet.

Then we ended the call and I took a deep breath, and thought – crikey.